


The Ethics of Wanting You

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Bathroom confessions, Ethics, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Walk ins, an attempt at a date masking itself as a study session, and friends, and now... ;), study session, they're roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: Simon Snow realized recently that he has a crush on Baz.Penny suggested he find reasons to spend more time with him, so he suggests a study session for their ethics exam the following day.(It doesn't go as planned, but the result is very much worth it.)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 16
Kudos: 170





	The Ethics of Wanting You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachpit_gabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpit_gabe/gifts).



> HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY [GABE!!](http://tumblr.com/blog/peachpit_gabe) You are such an amazing person and friend and ILYSM!
> 
> Thank you to [Liz](http://tumblr.com/blog/foolofabookwyrm%22) for reading this before posting!

“Je pense, donc je suis,” Baz says. 

We’re in the library, some students quietly talking in corners, others with headphones on staring at stacks of books, and I’m looking blankly at him as he looks down at his notes. 

When Penny said I should suggest a study session with Baz, this _wasn’t_ what I expected.

(My mind had thought I might get to study _him_ instead.)

(Up against the bookshelves maybe? In a private study room on the third floor?)

“Yes, yes,” I reply. I pull at the collar of my shirt and shift in my seat. “That much I know.”

_I think, therefore I am._

I hate my ethics class. I don’t understand anything they’re saying. 

_I think, therefore I am._

Yeah- alright. So? I think. I am. Who the fuck cares? I also eat, breathe, bathe, piss...

“Do you?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at me. 

I shake my head from my thoughts, letting my eyes unglaze and put Baz back into focus. 

It’s so incredibly frustrating when he does this. His eyebrow, even raised in such a mocking and incredulous way, is attractive. 

(And it’s _always_ mocking me.)

I open my mouth to speak and he cuts me off. 

“Think, that is,” he clarifies.

_I want to punch that smirk right off his face._

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I mutter, flipping a page of my notebook. 

“You’re the one who asked, Snow,” he replies, taking the cap off his highlighter. 

I glance up to watch the way he highlights a few of the words on the page. 

_The very act of doubting one’s own existence serves as proof of the reality of one’s own mind._

He lifts his hand, and my eyes follow. Baz’s eyes are still on his page, reading his notes. He puts the highlighter in between his teeth at the corner of his mouth.

My heart rate quickens.

(I’m certainly doubting a lot right now. I wonder what Mr. Descartes would say about that?)

I clear my throat. 

_I have_ got _to study for this test._

(My notes are useless, however.)

“You’re thinking too loud,” Baz says, pulling his highlighter back from his mouth. 

I can’t stop staring at his lips.

“I must be _really_ existing, then.” 

He rolls his eyes and moves to highlight another line on his page. 

Baz and I haven’t always gotten along. Our first semester here we fought _constantly_. 

But everything changed after that Christmas. 

I’m not sure if it was exhaustion or the way we were thrown into a living situation with each other. 

(Forced to learn things about the other we may not have learned before.)

(Like how he showers in the morning.)

(Or the anniversary of his mother’s death.)

We became friends and-

“You alright, Simon?” He asks. 

I quickly look back down at my paper. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright.”

I don’t know _how_ I’m going to do it. Just that it needs to be done. 

I know he’s gay. (He’s been on a few dates.)(It makes me jittery each time.) (I only _just_ realized why that might be.)

I _think_ he likes me too. 

(Penny says it’s _obvious_.)

At the beginning of this year it clicked for me.

How I missed the sound of his breathing at night over the summer. 

The way he rolls his eyes at me when I do something particularly stupid. (But, also the way he helps me when I become frustrated.)

It took a couple of weeks, but then I realized the way I looked at his bloody forearms wasn’t strictly heterosexual. 

I look up, seeing the way he’s pushed his sleeves back. 

(Am I going to be done in by a set of forearms?)

He absentmindedly rolls his wrist, making me shift in my seat.

(Yes, it seems so.)

He closes his book.

“Let’s get food.”

I blink.

“What?”

“Food,” he says again, slower and louder, putting his notebook into his bag. “That thing you always want.” 

I shrug.

(I _am_ hungry.)

I put my notebook in my bag as well, only letting my mind wander into existential dread for a brief moment. (There’s no way I’ll manage to pass this test.) 

(I spend too much of class staring at Baz.)

He waits for me to gather my many random items (pens, highlighters, a few pieces of candy, my water bottle) before leading me out of the library. 

I weighed the _ethics_ of the situation a week ago. Dating a roommate, and someone I’ve become fairly good friends with, comes with challenges.

(How will I handle it if he rejects me?)

(Or if we break up.)

I clear my throat before we reach the dining hall. 

“Snow,” he says, turning and crossing his arms. “Do spit out whatever it is you’re thinking about. I’d rather eat in peace without the gears turning in your brain drowning out any and all other sound.”

I pause, heart rate quickening. 

(I’m not sure what I’m meant to do now.)

He has both eyebrows raised, patiently waiting for me to _get on with it._

(A double eyebrow situation is never good. The last time this happened was when I suggested we watch Anchorman.)

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, clearly.”

I exhale deeply. 

“Sorry,” he says softly. “Please continue.”

I nod once in thanks. A group of girls passes us, laughing about something we could never understand. (I’ve tried. I can never figure it out.)

I grab his arm and pull him towards the restroom nearby. 

“What the bloody-”

“Just shh,” I say, closing the door behind us. “I need to get this out, and if it goes poorly then when we walk out of here we can both pretend it never happened.”

I look into his eyes. 

They’re grey, but in that relaxing grey cloudy way. The type of grey that makes you want to nap and get comfortable the entire afternoon.

(They calm me, even now.)

“Baz I-” my throat catches. ( _Fuck._ ) “I like you.”

His eyes go wide.

“And before you say anything-” I start speaking louder, as if I’m trying to cover up everything I’ve ever done or said before this moment. “I _know_ we are friends. I _know_ we are roommates. I watch the guys you date and how none of them look like me and-”

“Can I speak?” He shouts. I stop mid sentence, not completely sure what I was going to say next anyway. 

“Thank you,” he says, softer. He takes a step closer. 

(There’s not much space here, it’s only now that I’m realizing it.)

(No space to run.)

“Simon Snow.” He pushes a curl from my forehead. It takes everything in me to not lean into it. Into his touch. “I like you too.”

I open my eyes.

(Fuck I closed them. How did I not realize?)

“You-?”

“Yes,” he interrupts. “I have for a while.” He trails his fingers down my arms. 

My head feels light. Like nothing besides his eyes, his lips, his arms (which are now wrapping behind my waist) exist. 

_His lips._

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

(What did I mean to say?)

Baz leans into my ear.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. The feel of his breath on my skin sends a shiver down my spine. I put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. 

_Baz likes me._

“Yes,” I breathe in response. It sounds ridiculous, but I don’t care. 

He chuckles before moving his lips to my own and it feels like he’s taken this entire conversation and made it bold. 

Before it was all parentheses and italics. Nervous, anxious, and tense. Now it’s sharper, more focused. Something you can’t ignore. 

I deepen the kiss, letting my fingers move into his hair, feeling and hearing the way he moans at the gentle tug I give. 

A door opens and we separate, eyes darting towards the door.

“Penny!” Shepard shouts, turning around and walking back out. “It happened!”

There’s a moment where we both stand still, staring at the door as it closes. 

Shepard walks back in.

“Sorry, I need to pee,” he whispers, shuffling past us to a stall. 

I look at Baz. His lips are swollen, pupils dilated, hair messy.

He holds his hand out, waiting.

I smile, reaching for it and leading him out of the bathroom.

(The kissing’s not done. Not by a long shot, but I _am_ hungry. And I’m sure there is an angry Penelope waiting for us to tell the story.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23%22)!


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